One More Time
by Guile
Summary: Tidus, everyone you have ever loved or known has been dead or buried for a thousand years. Again.
1. Rebirth

Key;

"Text." - Spoken aloud

'Text.' - Thought silently

/Text./ - Memory

Disclaimer:

This magnificent game doesn't belong to me. But then, you didn't really think it did, did you?

I'm not making any money off this. Unless you'd like to send me some. Feel free. Send lots.

I think that covers everything.

---

The harsh cry of gulls was the first thing the boy heard as he awoke. He gradually became aware of the lapping of water against his shins and knees. With difficulty, he pushed himself to his knees. His body felt... strange. As if his muscles had atrophied or something. He got the feeling that it had been a long, long time since he had last used them.

Without really knowing why, he found himself murmuring, "Was this how it felt, Auron...?"

But he couldn't remember ever meeting anyone named Auron in his life. Or, for that matter, anyone else...

---

TBC

A/N: Hey all. Not much to say just yet. This story will probably have a lot of t3h angst in it. Got the idea from a friend's description ofFFX's perfect ending, where he said Tidus washed up on the beach. Anyway...

There's gonna be spoilers for FFX, I'm sure, maybe even FFX-2, so be aware, if you haven't finished the game.


	2. Restoration

The unnamed boy sat despondently in front of the small fire he had made and brooded. After he had awoken, he had come to the realization that he didn't remember ANYTHING.

'Well, no,' the boy reflected. He hadn't forgotten everything entirely. He could remember how to light fires, for instance. But he could not remember where he had learned to do it, or from who. Much of his scattered memories were like that. Skills at basic things like cooking or cleaning or swimming, but no names or faces of anyone or anything.

On some memories, the memories that he desperately NEEDED, there was.. a block. A massive mental wall, through which nothing could enter or leave.

He hadn't even recognized the boy staring back at him from the water's reflection. Blonde hair, tanned skin, deep blue eyes staring out of a face that was more pretty than handsome. It was a stranger's face that stared back at him.

'I don't even recognize my damn clothes. Black shorts, yellow shirt, white hood? A silver stud in the ear, a little necklace? What kind of profession might be done in clothes such as these? What kind of man would wear this outfit?' Nothing jumped out at him.

He had even run a quick inventory of the contents of his many and varied pockets, anything that might point to who he had been. All he had found was a pair of dark, rounded shades that some instinct told him to keep safe.

Someone had given those shades, he recalled. Someone who he thought very highly of. Someone with black hair streaked with grey and a crooked smile...

But for the life of him, he couldn't remember the man's face.

Much of what he remembered was like that.

That night, he didn't bothered to sleep. He was too busy trying to find the memory of faces in the dancing flames.

---

Morning came, and he was no closer to finding his past than he had been before night had fallen. He had organized the bits and pieces he remembered into a more orderly form, but the amount of what he knew was pitifully small.

He knew that he had awoken near noon on a beach. He could recall the basics and necessities of everyday life.

That was it.

Everything else was feelings and fever dreams and damn too little information to go on.

But he couldn't just stay on this beach forever. He would need to find shelter, preferably a town or city.

That said, he chose a direction at random and began walking.

---

Cathy looked sourly at the bouncing bundle of excitement that was Zeru and sighed again. One would think they were out on a joyride rather than a hunting expedition. Jaz, too, looked much too cheerful to be out scouting for fiends, though he at least gave a valiant, though failing, effort into putting on a stern face.

Before she could think up some colorful curses for her companions, her sharp ears caught the sound of something sifting through the brush. It was faint, but it was coming their way.

"No way! You mean that they actually - "

Cathy chopped a hand behind her for quiet.

She hissed, "Fiends, I think, heading in from the south."

Jaz frowned, serious now. "D'you think we ought'ta engage, Cath?"

Before she could answer, however, a boy crashed out of the brush. It seemed that it was he she had heard. He was dressed in an odd motley of clothes, ranging from red, to blue, to yellow, to white, to black. "Whoa," Jaz commented. "You ain't from around here, are ya?"

The boy blinked. "No, I don't think so."

Jaz continued, "Man, no offense, but you look like shit."

And it was true enough. The guy looked pale under his tan, skin stretched tight over wiry muscle, and his clothes were ripped and dirty from trudging through the jungle that made up this isle. Cathy rolled her eyes and replied for the other boy, "That's it, Jaz, win him over with sweetness, why don't you?"

The other scout said defensively, "Hey, I'm jus' sayin' - "

Before he could finish the thought, the guy in question cocked his head and looked in the distance off to their right.

As if that had been a cue, a massive fiend broke above the tree level, heading straight for them with an ear-shattering screech. It wasn't any of the types the three natives had ever seen; it looked like a huge cross between a reptile and a bird, a dark tan in color, except for the bright red plumage on its chest and the feathers on the inside of its wings.

Zeru asked in an awe-struck whisper, "What.. the HELL.. is THAT? I've never SEEN a creature so big!" Cathy nodded in terse agreement and replied, "Let's get out of here. I don't think the three of us can take it alone. We'd need the whole damn militia."

The strange, blonde-haired boy frowned, his eyes far away. "A Garuda."

Cathy turned around, ignoring the monster for a moment in favor of the more immediate puzzle.

Jaz voiced the question all three teens were wondering. "What?"

The boy just blinked at them in mutual noncomprehension.

The big snake-dragon-bird-bug thing chose this moment to attack.

---

The Garuda, sensing prey, homed in on the blinking teens easily. When it was in range, it pulled out of its glide and swept its gigantic wings forward, kicking dirt and debris and startled scout up into the air through sheer force.

The unnamed boy frowned again as he picked himself up off the ground and growled. The little scouting party was out for the count, it seemed. It was up to him, as per usual. He wasn't sure where this thought came from, but he was sure it was the truth.

So thinking, he looked around the clearing for something to use against the monster, and his eyes alighted on Cathy's dropped weapon. He dropped to his knees beside her unconscious form, and hefted the sword. He recognized it; an antique cavalry saber. It didn't feel quite right, but it would serve.

He stood up again in the stance he suddenly knew he should have been in all along; left hand out in front for balance, blade behind him. The Garuda roared at the prey that did not know it should have been dead, and the prey answered with a roar of its own that seemed pretty weak in comparison.

When the Garuda attacked again, this time a raking attack with its powerful talons, the now-armed boy blocked the strike as if he had done it a thousand times before, and before the flyer could mount a second attack, he took to the trees, bounding from trunk to trunk and pushing himself higher into the air with each leap.

And with one final leap, he jumped onto the creature's back, scrambled up a bit higher to settle himself against the thing's shoulders, and drove his borrowed blade deep into the base of its skull.

With a final cry, the fiend exploded in a shower of glowing pyreflies. The boy gave himself a mental pat on the back for a split second until he realized that, with the Garuda vanquished, there was no longer anything to keep him up into the air. Gravity, deciding it had had enough of his impudence, reasserted itself.

He screamed all the way down the twenty feet to the ground, and promptly lost consciousness on impact.

---

Slowly, the scouts fuzzed back into consciousness. They looked around at each other blankly in a sort of morning grogginess before recalling the attack. Looking around, however, proved that there was no colossal fiend about to make of them a meal.

Zeru also noticed the boy they had been talking to a bit farther away, his leg twisted unnaturally. Silently, she pointed his prone body out to the other two. Jaz swore quietly with feeling. Cathy, as usual, took charge.

"Okay," she said after a moment's thought, "Do either of you know White magic? I was never very good at it." Zeru nodded quietly and said in response, "I know a bit. Lemme see what I can do."

She knelt beside him and held out a hand, palm outwards and thumb tucked in. An aura began to build as she readied a healing spell. "Cure," she murmured, her voice rich with the power of the spell. A sphere of glowing, greenish-blue light enveloped the boy, sinking into his body and vanishing without a trace.

And before their eyes, the boy's cuts and cruises closed over and healed themselves, though his limb remained twisted, likely broken. When the glow finally disappeared, the caster sat back, breathing heavily. "That's the best I can do for him. If ya want a complete healing, you're gonna have to go back to the temple, get some priests on it. I can't do enough out here."

Cathy nodded authoritively. "Well then, let's call it a day and head back to Besaid. There's nothing more we can do here. Jaz, carry him."

The trip back was filled with complaints and whining from the only conscious male of the group.

---

TBC...

A/N: Like it? Despise it? Let me know - review!


	3. Revelation

Zeru looked down at her patient, her face clouded with thought. Now that she thought back to it, she figured that her and Jaz and Cathy really shouldn't have been alive right now. That fiend, Garuda, was more powerful than any she had ever seen, maybe even as strong as the Sinspawn of legend.

In addition to her White magic, she had a not inconsiderable amount of empathic ability she had inherited from someone a ways back in her family line. Before the beast-bird had knocked her unconscious, she had gotten a pretty good reading off it.

Unwavering hatred for all living things. Unstoppable rage for all those who stood against it. Unending hunger for blood and hurt and pain. More intense than anything she had ever felt before. There was no way a creature like that would knock them all unconscious and then just fly away as soon as they were helpless. 'So what had happened?' she thought, mulling it over.

Any way she looked at it, it was a disturbing thought.

When she looked down at the boy again, she was surprised to see his eyes open, but unaware, unseeing in delirium. His mouth was moving rapidly as he whispered under his breath. Before she could rise, his hand shot out like a kicked blitzball and latched onto her wrist with an iron grip, so fast she could barely even register the movement.

Trying to ignore the burning pain in her wrist, she leaned in closer to hear.

"…Coming, Yuna…" the boy whispered, his eyes still fevered, but now fixed on her face.

"What...?" she whispered, confusion swirling across her face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

But the boy had already slipped into deeper unconsciousness, his features smoothing into blankness.

---

He sat up with a suddenness that nearly catapulted him out of his bed. "Where am I?" he asked to the empty air and glowing moon.

Within moments, it came rushing back to him. What little there was, at any rate. He remembered the fight with that creature, and the people he had met just before. Everything was still unexplained, but it was unexplained in a more acceptable manner.

He noted, belatedly, the girl asleep in the chair beside him. She was darkly tanned, her shoulder length black hair tied with a white headband adorned with beads and feathers at the temples. She was dressed simply, in a tan jerkin, dark green vest and black knee-length pants. He also noticed the dark brown boots had seen a lot of action; they were worn and scuffed and covered in scratches and dirt.

He remembered her as one of the group he had found.

But what was she doing here? Or he?

He stood without making a sound, and drifted to the window to look out into the starry night.

Moonlight shone down softly on huts and tents set up in more-or-less straight line. The boy frowned, a headache developing. He knew this place, or one like it. Without any warning, an image superimposed itself on the peaceful night with the force of an oracle's vision.

/There were two people arguing beside a roaring fire, a man and a woman, the man's tanned skin a vivid contrast to the woman's pale hue. The woman hissed something and left, the straps that made up her dress tinkling and swirling around her like a grey mist. The man sighed regretfully, and let her go./

The vision ended then. _What had that woman in black and grey said to the man in yellow, _he wondered. He did not know, but he knew it for a piece of memory. He sighed. Maybe a walk would clear his head.

---

The village, he noticed, was an odd blend of ancient and modern, old ways and new. He had noticed running water in the huts, but they were still thatched in the traditional way. He had seen the sentries toting fairly advanced weaponry - guns he had never seen the like of before, but the doors were still merely scraps of woven cloth, and they used fire for light and warmth.

Quite peculiar.

After wandering around a bit, he realized that the village itself seemed to form an avenue leading straight towards a massive structure. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to check it out.

Inside, the place seemed smaller than its outside had indicated. There was just one large, high-domed room, and three doors. An elderly man in a robe of yellow with green trim met him at the door. "Greetings, young visitor, to the holy temple of Besaid." His voice whispery and as ancient as the man himself, but his bow was surprisingly fluid and graceful. "May I assist you in some way?"

"Ah, no. I'm just here to.. look around," the amnesiac muttered, looking uncomfortable.

The old man nodded. "Well then, take all the time you wish. These are the statues of great heroes long past. I will be in my quarters-" here he pointed at the right hand door, "-should you have need of me. I should, however, warn you, that the Chamber of the Fayth-" this time he nodded towards the middle door, "-is off-limits and quite dangerous, so I would advise you not to attempt to enter."

The boy nodded back and stepped forward. The hall was a riot of images, murals and statues covering every inch of available room. He slowly wandered past unfamiliar people of every size, shape, and look.

There, in that alcove, were twin statues, a man and a woman. The man was tall and strong, clad in a trench coat. Brass knuckles adorned his hands, and the devil danced in his eyes. The hand not clutching the woman's was raised in defiance. The woman - girl, really - was as different from the man as night is to day; a lovely, demure girl with big eyes in a ruffled dress, clutching a book inscribed with runes.

Across the hall from the couple were more statues, these a pair of boys, likely not more than sixteen. They both wore armor and held swords; and despite their young age, their statues exuded confidence and competence.

A mural depicted a group of harried fighters battling a man clad entirely in black leather, with a single angel's wing protruding from his shoulder. In another, a group of four fought a dark, sinister-looking tree-thing surrounded by fog.

There was another statue further down, showcasing a hard, grim man in fighting leathers, with a weapon that was both a sword and gun slung over his shoulder. On the ceiling, a boy with wings - one living and one complex machinery - raced through the sky, hounded by winged enemies.

Another statue of a man, this one wearing a sort of clear glass eye patch, with a pair of cutlasses hanging from his belt, grinned sightlessly at him, his arms around two girls in outfits that screamed 'pirate.'

Everywhere he looked showed the paintings and statuary; there must have been hundreds of them.

He looked at the next statue on the right. Oholland was the name engraved on it. A rather massive man, with what he recognized as a blitz ball under one arm. He seemed vaguely familiar. He'd heard of this man before.

/Master Oholland, guide our feet./

He blinked suddenly. The voice had seem to come from all around, whispered, hushed voices speaking to him from thin air. Creepy. But if he could learn more about himself, about his past here, then he would have to try.

He moved determinedly to the next statue, a young boy with what looked like a sock doing double duty as a hat. But he felt nothing, heard nothing. The next, an expressionless girl with long, flowing hair. Nothing. Beginning to despair, he rushed to the next: a man with a shaved head in a flowing robe. Kinoc. And the voices came again, sounding almost sorrowful.

/This plan won't work. You know that. We'll just let them dream a little longer.

The next was a small, older man, slightly stooped. The name engraved on the statue read Mika. The voices were dark and hissing as they spoke.

/Men die. Beasts die. Even continents perish. Only the power of Death truly commands in Spira. Resisting its power is futile./

He heard, but he did not understand. He kept moving. More statues that evoked nothing. Until he reached another statue: Braska. The feeling of familiarity was even stronger. The voices were silent but he _knew_ he knew this man, somehow. Just as he knew that the robe the color of stone should be blue and white, and the hair made of granite should be brown.

He wandered to the other side of the room, gazing at the statues that held bits of his past. The next statue was of a wild man. The statue's hair almost seemed to move in an unfelt wind, barely held back by a bandana. His shirt was missing, and there were scars on him. The voices nearly bombarded him when he approached. He knew, without having to look at the engraving, that this man's name was Jecht, and he both loved him and hated him with a passionate intensity.

/I call it 'The Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III'./

/Hah! You got tall, but you're all skin and bones! You eating right, boy/

/Yeah, but you're still bigger./

/Well, I am Sin, you know./

/You'll cry. You're gonna cry. You always cry. See? You're cryin'./

/You are my son after all./

The boy pulled himself to his feet. He had curled up into a fetal position without even noticing when the words once again entered his mind like a knife . He breathed heavily, as if he'd run a marathon, his head was killing him, and he was barely half way through. He wiped irritably at the tears that had trailed down his face and stepped forward to the next.

To come face to face with a man, grey in his black hair, a pair of shades covering his eyes, and yards of black and red cloth covering everything else. He had the oddest feeling that if he could pull the collar down, he'd find a smirk hiding beneath. Whatever artist they had found to carve these was really something. His heart seemed to clench merely gazing upon him. Auron, the Legendary Guardian.

This time, instead of a barrage, there was a single thought, an idea, so powerful it seemed to brand itself in big scalding letters across his mind.

/THIS IS IT. THIS IS YOUR STORY. IT ALL BEGINS HERE./

He shook his head and rushed on. He wasn't stopping before each statue anymore. He wasn't sure he could take it. He broke into a staggering run past them, their features blurring as he picked up speed.

A boy with spiky hair held back by a headband and twin swords grinned at him.

A man, glaring darkly, one hand on a sword and the other encased in a metal gauntlet, standing next to a short-haired woman with twin short swords.

A tall man in a black bodysuit.

Another boy, a bandana atop his head, clutching what looked like a double-headed paddle with blades on both ends.

A girl with warpaint on her face and beads in her hair, a dagger in hand.

A beastman with a broken horn…

A wordless, soundless roar filled the air.

A woman in black leather, clutching a stuffed toy…

/Failure is not an option./

A grinning man with a blitz ball under one arm…

/I became a guardian to fight Sin, ya/

An Al Bhed girl with laughing eyes.

/Memories are nice, but that's all they are. I keep my memories on the inside./

And then…

The man from before, Auron. Wrapped up in a coat he knows should be red as old blood. The man comes across as world-weary, somewhere across the eyes. Seen it all before, and wasn't impressed then.

And _him_.

Though not exactly as he felt, these days. His statue seemed ready to break free of its pedestal and walk out, ready and willing to take on the world. Bright youth and way too much exuberance wrapped up in a five foot six frame. He felt more ready to identify with the Auron statue, these days. He felt… tired.

But he pushed on, and came to a single, final statue. His knees hit the floor without him even realizing it, or caring. There, wreathing in glowing candles, was a girl. She was dressed in a flowing skirt that reached her bare feet - the sculptor had even captures the stars and moons on the hem.

She was leaning on a staff and looked… sad. Not break-into-sobs sad. No theatricality in her. But a quiet sadness, tempered with stubbornness. The weight of the world bowing her shoulders.

This girl was the reason. He knew that instinctively. She had been more important than his life, once.

"Yes. I had wondered how long it would take you to find your way here."

Somehow, he knew what he would find if he turned around - a creature of power in the shape of a child - and so he didn't. He put a name to the child - Fayth. The Fayth answer a question he had not put voice to: "Tidus, everyone you have ever loved or known as been dead and buried for a thousand years. Again."

He was Tidus. He filed that information away. The other bit of information the Fayth offered was… too great. Too much to think about. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Again the child-Fayth answered a question he had not realized he had. "You are here because we needed you here, in this time. Sin is stirring. But these people are not ready. Those three, you must protect them. They are the hope of the world. They have the blood of Yuna running through them, however faint. They can Summon. They _must_ survive."

Blood of Yuna. Children of Yuna. Yuna, his sad-eyed girl, had had children. Married. He tried to picture her as a kindly matron, with a happy family around her. It didn't compute. It was too far from the Yuna he knew. His head hurt.

The child-Fayth's voice seemed to come from a great distance away. "Remember, Tidus. There will come a chance to join them on a journey. Only one. Take it, and protect them, so that they may protect the world. _Remember_. And… I'm sorry."

And his consciousness fled into darkness.

---

Cathy blinked. So that was where their guest had gone. They'd had people out searching, combing the jungle in a panic, thinking he'd wandered off while delirious. And here he was in the temple the wholetime, asleep in the Legendary Summoner's alcove.

She hefted him onto her shoulder in a fireman's carry, staggered once, and straightened. He wasn't a big guy, but he was still 120 pounds of limp, dead weight.

"This sucks," she muttered as she staggered her way back to the infirmary.

---

TBC...

A/N: I took a few ideas for this story from Roger Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber, especially the first book. Good stuff. Anyway... the next update will probably be a couple months down the road. Sorry about that, for anyone who's gotten this far.


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